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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28321839">Elf On The Shelf</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/missduncan/pseuds/missduncan'>missduncan</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Waking the Dead (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 17:01:45</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,564</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28321839</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/missduncan/pseuds/missduncan</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Something weird is going on at the Cold Case Unit. Boyd doesn’t know what to believe.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Peter Boyd/Grace Foley</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Elf On The Shelf</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Merry Christmas 2020!</p>
<p>Many thanks to Joodiff for her kind support and beta</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="Normal tm5">
  <span class="tm6">Casting an annoyed glance at the screen, Peter Boyd exhales deeply. He's come nowhere. Absolutely fucking nowhere with the annual report, he's to submit to his superiors right after New Year.  </span>
</p>
<p class="Normal tm5">
  
</p>
<p class="Normal tm5">
  <span class="tm6">Deeply frustrated, he pushes the keyboard away from the middle of his desk, planting his elbows heavily down the surface, burying his head in his hands. If the report isn't finished soon, he'll have to work during the Christmas and that's certainly not how he imagines or plans to spend the coming holidays. He's done it so many years before – never has it caused him so much trouble – not even the year they lost Mel.  </span>
</p>
<p class="Normal tm5">
  
</p>
<p class="Normal tm5">
  <span class="tm6">Running a hand over his face, he tries to clear his thought. He can’t concentrate, though. Dry figures and statistics are not the first thing on his mind even it really should to be. Every time he sits in from of his computer ready to type, his mind starts drifting towards a more disturbing, much more annoying problem. Lifting his head, elbows still solid on the desk, he steeples his fingers, exhaling deeply concentrating on a small subject in front of him.  </span>
</p>
<p class="Normal tm5">
  
</p>
<p class="Normal tm5">
  <span class="tm6">Lately peculiar and weird things have happened. Probably since the start of December, now he thinks about it. Nothing really bad. Nothing interfering with their work, their investigations - but still unusual events. Findings... like the little box, filled with white pastilles lying on his desk. Something he found in the pocket of his overcoat yesterday evening when leaving the office. He certainly didn't buy it. That’s for sure. Somebody must deliberately have placed it there.   </span>
</p>
<p class="Normal tm5">
  
</p>
<p class="Normal tm5">
  <span class="tm6">Reaching for the box, twisting and turning it between his fingers, he studies it intensely. It’s an ordinary packet of TicTac, only – a sticker is glued on top hiding the original label, saying. "</span>
  <em>
    <span class="tm8">Snowman Poops</span>
  </em>
  <span class="tm6">".   <br/> <br/>Not a thought he ever had but the resemblance is obvious, and it makes him smirk. Opening the lid on the box, propping a few pastilles out on the surface of the desk, he gently pushes them back and forth with his index finger, softly chucking. Snowman poop... what an idea, he muses. An image of a jolly little boy, busting by excitement and expectations, emerges before his eyes. A happy boy cuddling on the couch with his dad, eating candy, watching The Snowman together on the telly during the Christmas Days. Something they did every year until he became a teenager. Luke would have enjoyed the idea of the poops, laughed out loud. Lost in thought, Boyd feels a slight ticking in the corner of his mouth... The happy memory from a time long lost.   </span>
</p>
<p class="Normal tm5">
  
</p>
<p class="Normal tm5">
  <span class="tm6">Unconsciously, pinning a pastille between two fingers, he lifts it to his mouth but hesitates right before dropping it in. Poops, his ass, he snorts to himself with a grin, catches the candy with his tongue, sucking it, wondering who would dare to put something like that in his pocket. Who in this bloody unit got the balls for such an outrageousness? And what is the purpose? </span>
  
</p>
<p class="Normal tm5">
  
</p>
<p class="Normal tm5">
  <span class="tm6">Because it is </span>
  <em>
    <span class="tm8">not</span>
  </em>
  <span class="tm6"> an isolated case. When the first strange episode happened, he was alone in the office working late. Looking up from the report he was reading, a glint of something red on the bookcase by the door caught his eye. Investigating, he discovered a tiny teddy bear, dressed as Santa almost hidden behind a book in the bookcase. Another day, he discovered a small bowl filled with the most delicious cookies behind a pile of reports on his desk. All sweet and very cosy. All in the best Christmas spirit. Sometimes though, it's been more vicious and naughty happenings like the morning he arrived at the office very early to prepare for a meeting at the Yard, he found his computer screen covered with Christmas garlands and his desk phone wrapped as a Christmas present. Another morning maybe a week later, some white powder – probably flour – dusted on his desk from one side to the other imprinted with tiny, tiny footprint. The mere thought of Spence's grinning face and inappropriate comments, though, made him immediately remove and hide the evidence every time, not daring to risk his co-workers to see the mischief. It could easily demolish his authority and reputation.  </span>
</p>
<p class="Normal tm5">
  
</p>
<p class="Normal tm5">
  <span class="tm6">It's not that he doesn't appreciate a joke, he really does at the right time and place. But this is a workplace. A police unit for fuck sake. Certain boundaries and authority have to be maintained.   </span>
</p>
<p class="Normal tm5">
  
</p>
<p class="Normal tm5">
  <span class="tm6">Pushing back his chair, getting on his feet, he strolls through the empty squad room for a fresh cup of coffee, mentally thanking Stella for making a brew before leaving the office for an interview together with Spence. Returning with a steaming cup, he notices Grace lost in some kind of reading. Looking up the exact moment, he passes her partly opened door, she catches his gaze, flashing him a gentle smile, before turning her attention back to the book in front of her. It’s just a second but it's reassuring, comforting even and back in his office, he briefly ponders about confiding in her, though she's among his suspects. </span>
</p>
<p class="Normal tm5">
  
</p>
<p class="Normal tm5">
  <span class="tm6">Sinking down his chair again, leaning heavily against the backrest, he runs his fingers through his hair. Somehow he must get to the bottom of the problem. Now. Before the situation escalates. It’s almost like one of Santa's small helpers is working overtime at the CCU. But he is not a superstitious man, he reflects, rubbing chin with the backside of his hand. He does not believe in Father Christmas, Santa or his elves or any other kind of supernatural creatures. Right now, though, he doesn’t know what to believe... He’s a police officer, though; an old fox, completely immune to any kind of fairy tales or mythological stories and maybe he’s without a single clue who’s behind the gags but he intends to get to solve the problem. It’s obviously, somebody in his unit is making a huge effort teasing him. Someone putting a huge effort into winding him up. A person with a very mischievous mind... very mischievously indeed. </span>
</p>
<p class="Normal tm5">
  
</p>
<p class="Normal tm5">
  <span class="tm6">Grace, of course, is his prime suspect. She definitely has the brain and wit but he can’t imagine her sneaking around the office at odd hours just the fun of it or whatever the perpetrator gets from this. After all, most of the time he’s alone when he makes his “findings”. She’s a feisty, though, and her humour is certainly warped in a very weird way. He likes it – only sometimes he simply can’t follow her peculiar ways. He really doesn’t and so far, he hasn’t been able to gather any evidence pointing towards her or anybody else. <br/> </span>
</p>
<p class="Normal tm5">
  <span class="tm6">But... this should be treated like any other crime, systematically. Lacking an evidence board – he obviously can't use the one located in the squad room – but a sheet of paper will do. With this plan, he feels so much better.  </span>
</p>
<p class="Normal tm5">
  
</p>
<p class="Normal tm5">
  <span class="tm6">A sense of calmness and determination settles in him. It's obviously, he can't use the evidence board. Instead, he reaches for his pen and a sheet of paper and he’s ready to start evaluating the possibilities... As the unit is between cases combined with the coming holidays, most of the civilian staff is having time off, leaving only the core members of the team at work:   </span>
</p>
<p class="Normal tm5">
  <span class="tm6"> <br/></span>
  <em>
    <span class="tm8">Spence, Stella, Eve and Grace.</span>
  </em>
  <span class="tm6">   <br/> <br/>After writing the names down on a vertical line, he thoughtfully taps the tip of his pen at the corner of Spence's name, considering the possibilities, before slowly drawing a frame around it. Maybe once, together with Mel and Frankie, he might have been part of the plot but not now, Boyd shakes his head reflectively, given that both feisty young women sadly no longer are part of their team. Spence himself doesn't have much humour and he definitely doesn't have the brain or the imagination to be the mastermind behind these wicked deeds. Further, he's a police officer and wouldn't dare to make a laughingstock of his superior. Snorting, acknowledging the simple fact that his next in command simply doesn't' have the balls, Boyd crossed a line over the name before he turns his attention to the next name. </span>
</p>
<p class="Normal tm5">
  
</p>
<p class="Normal tm5">
  <span class="tm6">Stella is a clever girl, no doubt the smartest of one of his two detectives. Easily intimidated, though, by his own demeanour. Besides, he muses, she hasn’t quite found her footing in the team after the nasty affair with commander Drake, and she’s still uncertain on Spence's accept even though he doesn't seem to hold a grudge against her for the part of his shooting. She got balls alright, but bright as she is, she would never risk her place in the team for a silly and mischievous practical joke, making a fool of her commander. Concluding the young officer isn’t behind the gags either, he crosses out her name too.   </span>
</p>
<p class="Normal tm5">
  <span class="tm6">Not unexpected, that leaves him with the two doctors as the main suspects. Eve is definitely weird. Creepy even with her long, black painted nails and strange affection and passion for rotting corpses, rats and mites but she hasn't been with them for long, though. So far, she has no personal connection to him other as her boos. Most of the time, she's at her lab or her body farm with only a few occasions to observe his habits and schedules. Lurking around the office not to mention inside his own would be difficult for her. </span>
</p>
<p class="Normal tm5">
  <span class="tm6">It has to be Grace. Must be. But he can't prove it and that drives him utterly crazy. Impatiently and highly irked, his fingers start to drum a static rhythm on the desk. If only... he closes his eyes tight for a moment, concentrating... if only he could catch her in the act...  </span>
</p>
<p class="Normal tm5">
  
</p>
<p class="Normal tm5">
  <span class="tm6">An angry buzz from his phone abruptly brings his line of thoughts to an end. Speak about the devil, Eve's name flashes up on the display. Reaches out, he answers with a simple brusque “Boyd”. </span>
</p>
<p class="Normal tm5">
  
</p>
<p class="Normal tm5">
  <span class="tm6">"I'm leaving in about an hour, Boyd," the pathologist's deep voice sounds in his ear. Not unfriendly though.  </span>
</p>
<p class="Normal tm5">
  
</p>
<p class="Normal tm5">
  <span class="tm6">"Eh?" He got abso-bloody-lutely not a fucking idea what woman is talking about?  </span>
</p>
<p class="Normal tm5">
  
</p>
<p class="Normal tm5">
  <span class="tm6">"At the team-talk you mentioned you liked me to go through the laboratory statistics for your annual report. If you still want that, you'll better hurry." The pathologist replies with a notable smirk, “I plan to go Christmas shopping soon.”   </span>
</p>
<p class="Normal tm5">
  
</p>
<p class="Normal tm5">
  <span class="tm6">Shit. Rubbing a hand over his face, he tries to clear his mind. Totally forgot that one. Better get on with the work at hand. Ending the call with a short "On my way," he determinedly gets up, fetching his glasses and leaves the office with a short stop, telling Grace he’ll be at the lab the next half hour at least. <br/> </span>
</p>
<p class="Normal tm5">
  <span class="tm6">Returning back much faster than anticipated, his mood is significantly better. The short walk cleared his head and Eve, precise and effective as she always is, quickly explained to him what he needed to know.  </span>
</p>
<p class="Normal tm5">
  <span class="tm6">Coming through the swing door, he immediately notices Grace's office is empty. Casting a glance around the squad room, his gaze catches a strange sight, though. Right inside his own office in front of the door, the small ladder – normally stored at the archive – is placed and on the top step a pair of very nice-looking legs are on display. Not a sight often offered him during a workday.  </span>
</p>
<p class="Normal tm5">
  
</p>
<p class="Normal tm5">
  <span class="tm6">Silently smiling by himself, he briefly hesitates, trying to figure out, what to do. There's absolutely no doubt in his mind, that he's about to catch his elf in the very act of instrumenting a new deed. </span>
</p>
<p class="Normal tm5">
  
</p>
<p class="Normal tm5">
  <span class="tm6">Carefully, sneaking through the room, taking care not to startle her, he comes close enough to lean casually against the door frame. Crossing his arms over his chest, he looks up for a moment, enjoying the sight, before offering softly with a bright grin feeling very, very smug. "Need a hand, eh?” </span>
</p>
<p class="Normal tm5">
  
</p>
<p class="Normal tm5">
  <span class="tm6">There's no reply. She just stands there without moving a muscle, completely frozen.  </span>
</p>
<p class="Normal tm5">
  
</p>
<p class="Normal tm5">
  <span class="tm6">"Grace?" He gently nudges, prompting her for a respond, biting down his lip to conceal his laughter. </span>
</p>
<p class="Normal tm5">
  <span class="tm6">For a moment, their gazes connect. A slight glint of uncertainty flickers in her blue eyes, however it quickly disappears, exchanged by a simmering mirth and within a split of a second she, apparently completely calm and unfazed by the situation, responds. "Yes, please, a hand would be much appreciated," and let him safeguard her down the ladder.  </span>
</p>
<p class="Normal tm5">
  
</p>
<p class="Normal tm5">
  <span class="tm6">"Caught in the act, are we so to speak, are we?" Keeping a solid grip of her hand, he squeezes it softly.   </span>
</p>
<p class="Normal tm5">
  
</p>
<p class="Normal tm5">
  <span class="tm6">“What do you mean?” Shrugging innocently. “I was only hanging up a mistletoe for Christmas...“ She lets the words hang in the air, looking up at him through her eyelashes, acting oh so innocent.  </span>
</p>
<p class="Normal tm5">
  
</p>
<p class="Normal tm5">
  <span class="tm6">“Of course, you are." He ironically retorts, rolling his eyes. "Of course, you are. You know perfectly well what I mean. Besides, I never have a mistletoe hanging inside my office. As leader of this unit, it wouldn't be right... very unethical.” </span>
</p>
<p class="Normal tm5">
  
</p>
<p class="Normal tm5">
  <span class="tm6">Pointing her lips, she seems to consider his words, nodding in agreement. “You might have a point there. I better remove it then.” She tries to turn towards the ladder again. </span>
</p>
<p class="Normal tm5">
  <span class="tm6">“Now, it’s there, though... “  <br/> <br/>“Now, it is there?” She arches an eyebrow in question, teasingly scrutinizing him. </span>
</p>
<p class="Normal tm5">
  <span class="tm6"> <br/>Without a word, he gently tucks her closer to his body, smiling wickedly. “Now it’s there we better put it in good use." Wrapping his arms around her petite frame, he holds her tight, dipping down, and kisses her deeply.   <br/> <br/>Resting his forehead against hers, as they end the kiss, he gently caresses her back. “Mm," he softly whispers, "Maybe I should call you </span>
  <em>
    <span class="tm8">Elf</span>
  </em>
  <span class="tm6"> from now on..." <br/> </span>
</p>
<p class="Normal tm5">
  <span class="tm6">“Don’t you dare!” Casting her head back, laughing out loud. “It was fun, though, so much fun. The way you lurked around lately, gazing suspiciously at everybody, looking in every corner and behind everything like you expected something terrible would appear, afraid of your own shadow. It's been hilarious.” </span>
</p>
<p class="Normal tm5">
  <span class="tm6">“Subversively active, I would call it.” He immediately cuts her short, trying hard to sound grumpy.  </span>
</p>
<p class="Normal tm5">
  <span class="tm6"> <br/>“Now come on, it wasn't that bad, was it?” She places a placating hand on his chest, angling her head, adding gravely with the most winning smile, "I didn't even use any of my most naughty ideas like exchanging your secret sugar store with salt." </span>
</p>
<p class="Normal tm5">
  
</p>
<p class="Normal tm5">
  <span class="tm6">"You know about that?" Frowning, he sends her a suspiciously glance.   </span>
</p>
<p class="Normal tm5">
  
</p>
<p class="Normal tm5">
  <span class="tm6">"Second drawer to the left," she giggles, then states, "and to your information, I haven't searched your desk. It's common office gossip. Everybody knows. You can't hide a bad habit a place like this. But... please tell... me," still sniggering between the words, "what gave me away?" <br/> <br/>“I’m a bloody detective for fucks sake but nobody makes cookies like you. Not even Santa’s little helpers can bake them with that such a delicious taste.” </span>
</p>
<p class="Normal tm5">
  
</p>
<p class="Normal tm5">
  <span class="tm6">"Damn it, why didn't I think of that?” Tilting her head coquettishly, she regards him for a moment, then takes a step closer to him. "Am I to remove the mistletoe or do you want to try again?" <br/> <br/>"And risk a work-related injury a few days before Christmas?” He protests. “No way! Who is to cook for me the Christmas diner then?"  <br/> <br/>Eyes flashing impishly, she gets on tip-toe, reaching up, gently brushes her lips against his, mumbling. "We don't really need a mistletoe, do we?" </span>
</p>
<p class="Normal tm5"> </p>
<p class="Normal tm5">
  
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